


Fistful of Steel

by dwarrowkings



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Facial Shaving, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwarrowkings/pseuds/dwarrowkings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless shaving kink fic.<br/><i>Chuck bites his lip, and Herc can’t look away from the way his teeth are bared,  the indentations of his teeth. Aggression.  His stomach clenches, his body going hot, but he doesn’t move away from Chuck’s intent face. He’s all finesse, though, and gentle fingers.<br/></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fistful of Steel

The razor drags across Herc’s cheek, sharp and dangerous. Threatening. Chuck bites his lip, and Herc can’t look away from the way his teeth are bared, the indentations of his teeth. Aggression. His stomach clenches, his body going hot, but he doesn’t move away from Chuck’s intent face. He’s all finesse, though, and gentle fingers.

Chuck wipes the foam on a towel, and cradles his fingers against the side of Herc’s neck. Herc tilts his face, all easy submission. Chuck’s fingers dig into his jaw a little tighter than he probably intends.

Chuck gently scrapes the underside of Herc’s jawline with the blade, exposing vulnerable, pale skin. His fingers unconsciously follow the path of the straight razor, making sure that the skin is whole and unbroken. It’s insurance, as well, a claim. Chuck is not losing his father to a straight razor, not when he fights giant monsters with him. Herc can feel this, echoing through the Drift hangover. Win or die, they think together, there isn’t any other alternative.

In three hours, Herc will be in his dress blues for the briefing he isn’t supposed to be attending And even though Herc is not an official member of it, regulations dictate that he cannot have a beard for this and despite the fact that he knows that this is the last meeting, Hercules Hansen won’t be out of regulation for Closing Day of the PPDC. Not for the closest to home he’s come since Sidney. 

Chuck looks at him young and potent, full of barely restrained fire. Herc wishes he could have that drive, be that angry. (He does in the drift.) But after ten years, Herc finally feels the weight on his shoulders lessen a little. He’s tired. Striker is the fastest Jaeger in the world and maybe just fast enough to outrun the world’s destruction, but Herc expects to die in the process.

Right now, the world is ending. Chuck’s lips are brushing against the delicate, exposed skin. Herc doesn’t make a noise, but it’s close. His breath catches, though, and Chuck’s breath huffs out, fans across his neck cooling the shaving foam and making Herc shiver. 

He tilts his chin, just enough to submit, and Chuck makes a pleased noise. 

The spell is broken, and Chuck pulls away. His eyes are wide, and he breathes the short, quick breaths of the panicked. He picks up the straight razor, and tries to continue, but his thumb slips, and blood wells and smears across Herc’s neck.

“Shit,” Chuck says, dropping the razor on the counter. He squeezes the split skin on his finger together, blood pooling even through the pressure. “Sorry,” Chuck says, uncharacteristically apologetic. Is he apologizing for cutting his own finger, or is he apologizing for the kiss?

It doesn’t matter. Herc doesn’t acknowledge it.

Herc holds Chuck’s hands in his, cradling them like he used to hold Chuck’s whole body. A happy baby who smiled at Herc without reservations or resentment. 

Herc washes away the blood, bandages the wound and holds onto Chuck’s hand for as long as Chuck will let him. 

It takes a long time for Chuck to pull away, but when he does, it’s to fall to his knees, and press his forehead into Herc’s hand, a benediction from a Father he may or may not still believe in.   
Herc pulls his hands away, until it is just his fingertips touching Chuck’s forehead, a physical reminder of the mental connection that they share. Chuck’s eyes open, and look up at Herc, desperate and weighted with weariness. Herc brushes his fingers over Chuck’s nose, the slight bump where Chuck has provoked someone into punching him. 

Herc’s fingertips tingle, and he hesitates for a second before touching Chuck’s mouth. Chuck, however, tilts his head back, and forces the issue. He breathes with his mouth open, the breath hot and damp on the pads of Herc’s fingers. Want pushes through Herc’s veins, fizzy and quick and tinged with shame. He can feel the empty restlessness of Chuck’s thoughts, restless like the sea during an earthquake - moving and unsure of which way to move until the waves crash on shore. 

Chuck’s tongue darts out to lick at his lips, and he catches at the pad of Herc’s ring finger.   
“Chuck,” Herc says, neither a warning nor a plea, but desperately trying to be both.

Chuck’s eyelashes flutter, and he looks up at him. He’s so beautiful, deep blue eyes, blonde hair like his mother. It’s mussed, but Chuck tends to wear it like he just rolled out of bed anyway, so it isn’t making much difference. Herc wonders when he felt sanity slip through his fingers, replaced by this. This topsy turvy thing where Chuck kneeling at his feet, with one hand on his thigh for balance, and the other curling round the back of his knee is the best thing he’s ever felt.

Chuck’s tongue darts out again, sucks the tip of Herc’s finger into his mouth to the first knuckle. His mouth is hot, and wet like he wants this so badly that his mouth is watering, but Herc doesn’t want to think about that. Chuck sucks, and Herc’s knees lose some of their military bearing. His shoulders too.

He touches the side of Chuck’s face with his left hand, rubbing Chuck’s cheekbone under his eye, and he can practically feel Chuck soak up the attention. 

Please, Herc hears, and that’s Chuck, begging in the Drift they both feel, strong and broad between them all the time, please don’t push me away, Dad. 

Herc can’t. He tries to think as much, but the link must still be strong, because Chuck sucks the rest of Herc’s finger into his mouth, tasting the skin, and mouthing at the ring on Herc’s finger.   
After Chuck had graduated from Jaeger Academy, Herc had secretly had his wife’s and his wedding ring melted into Chuck’s class ring from the Jaeger Academy. He’d had just enough pull with Stacker to get him to go along with it. 

Chuck never acknowledges what it is, but he gave it to his dad to wear. “You wanted this more than me, Dad,” Chuck says, bright and angry and seventeen. Herc feels Chuck see himself in Herc’s memories. There’s a halo of light behind Chuck, one that hadn’t been there on the actual day because it’d been in cold, rainy Alaska. Herc tamps down the warmth and pride for Chuck, but Chuck feels it anyway. 

Chuck pulls away, and Herc is too disciplined to make a noise of regret, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to.

Chuck presses his forehead into the cut of Herc’s hip, smelling clean soap and sweat and arousal. Herc can feel his desire, pushing at the edges of the drift, has felt it before, but he never imagined it was aimed towards him.

“Don’t,” Chuck begs, his voice high and tight. “Dad,” his voice cracks in the middle of the word, and Herc cracks with it. He pulls away from Chuck’s embrace, and tucks his fingers under his chin. 

“This isn’t a no,” Herc says, feeling Chuck’s disappointment. “It’s a later. I have a meeting to go to. The end of our world is nigh, Chuck, and I have to be there to help save it.” Herc puts his hand on Chuck’s shoulder. He squeezes. “I need you to be there with me, when we do.”

Chuck pushes himself up, and picks the straight razor up from the counter.

**Author's Note:**

> Eh, not the best thing, but also not the worst. Hope you enjoyed my pointless feels.


End file.
